Sword of the Hunter Ch1 Writeup
Sword of the Hunter Write Up – Ch1 A piercing headache. That would be the first thing Marco Albano Campanella feels upon waking up from his most recent ‘escapade’. Really it was a standard thing for his job. For it wasn’t what you would consider a normal profession. Hell, you probably wouldn’t even consider it real if I told you flat out to your face. A Cassandra Truth if you will. Marco is for all intents and purposes, a demon hunter. A real hunter of real demons. Yeah I said it wasn’t a normal job, didn’t I? Hunters of fictional demons. Well I'm going to tell you that every fanciful story told to you is true. The ones about hellish creature from the fiery infernos below to the grand golden gateway in the clouds. To the ancient ‘myths’ of the past, Greek monstrosities and Japanese youkai. Every last one trueExcept for those silly tales about Bigfoot. Often he is asked about and often I have to remind novice hunters its all an elaborate hoax played off by the more veteran hunters themselves. I mean really, do you honestly expect something with the description of Bigfoot to have survived this long with our presence? As for the Loch Ness. Well, Nessie may or may not exist, but sea serpents certainly do. Happy sailing.. To an extent. After all, there still exists no gods as far as we know. Angels? Yes. But as far as gods to govern these angels? None. The fire and brimstone of hell? Well such a plane does existIt’s not quite as burny as you’d expect, however, there exists no grand leader of them all and perhaps the imagery isn’t exactly as described. At least not to how the biblical texts would tell you. Hierarchy still reigns, but to a different chaos. And as for the polytheistic myths and tales: The monsters may very well exist, but like its more recent monotheistic counterparts, none of the gods. But those stories are for another day. Here I am focusing on the story of a hunter of these monsters. A single non-exemplary hunter who would stand out from no other, apart from a small fact. That he himself, partners up with a demon. Granted, this demon was a fallen angel herself. The fact still remains, however: She was a demon and a demon hunter has her as a partner. Her name is Abigail Lily Adler and her voice is the first he hears. “Hey! You’re awake! Get up!” Marco stirs, the cold marble floor soothing to recently inflicted third-degree burns to his chest. His vision can’t exactly be called perfect right now, and he gives the surrounding area a quick glance over as best he could. It’s not exactly promising. Abby, as we will call her now, was standing in front of him with a barrier raised, and both hands raised, using all her might to maintain it. Rising to his feet, Marco peers past the semi-translucent blue of the barrier at the creatures assaulting it. Five in total, they were helldogsQuite unpleasant creatures. They appear to be smaller versions of Cerberus himself, albeit down a head. Often coming in packs of three or more, they can tear the un-expecting hunter to shreds before they even have a chance to figure out what they were being assaulted by. As for those tales you heard in training about what they do to the dead bodies of those they slay that aren’t ripped to shreds. Well…there’s a reason their skin are the shades they are…. Never a fun bunch to deal with. Abby seemed at her last reserves, sweat rolling down her face. “Third degree burns take hurt like hell ya know,” Marco quips. “Sarcasm. Good to see…you’re…alive,” she responds between breaths, “Mind helping while you’re at it?” Forgoing any immediate treatment to hia wounds, Marco rights himself and holds a hand out to the side. Wisps of energy coalesce together into a long shaft of light before erupting into a physical form. A halberd to be specific. With barely anytime to ready himself any more than this, the sound of cracks forming on the barrier fill the air before it finally collapses, shattering like glass. Abby is sent flying back, and with a thud lands in Marco’s outstretched arm, passed out. With his other arm, he swings the weapon with a single hand, cleaving a dog cleanly in two and sending another one, which connected to the shaft flying. An opening in their group from this attack presented itself and he took it deftly, darting to a stairway through this corridor of helldogs. A corridor that closed itself behind him and proceeded to barrel at him up those steps. Our hunter barely makes it through the opening at the top of the stairs, the dogs hot on his tail. He touches the doorframe as he passes and pillars of ice erupt from the frame forming an impromptu prison cell door, which the lead beast crashes into with a sickening crunch. The set scene is now that of a cathedral at noon. Normally the entire area would be basked in the soft light of the sun shining through the stained glass windows. Those windows were blown out, though, glass covering the floor. Beams of light instead coated the entire scene in the light of a midsummer’s day. Perhaps a symbolic symbol to some. Such thoughts did not cross Marco’s mind, though. Partially because he was more worried about the three remaining rabid hellhounds slowly bashing through the barrier, and partially because he was worried on where to place the out of commission Abby. Scurrying to the opposite end of the cathedral, he plops her straight onto one of the vacant rows of seats. Just in time to turn around to the shattering of the ice. I suppose this buildup would entail something of a long struggle with these hellhounds as Marco fends them off whilst at the same time protecting Abby from danger. Unfortunately for this narrative, neither happened. What ''did ''happen, however, was that Marco charged his halberd with lightning, an element that he had become finely attuned to in its use. Then said lighting was discharged towards the creatures, and fried them on the spot. Marco was quite surprised at this development as well. “Huh! Maybe I’m just that good now,” he says with an air of confidence. “N-no you fool…” a familiar strained voice rise behind him, “That barrier was…was designed to drain their energy…” Abby pulls herself from the bench and onto her feetI should probably take some time to describe our little demon’s appearance. Silver hair (Which she kept in a neat long ponytail). Green eyes. She stood at half of Marco’s height and, for all intents and purposes, looked as though she was twelve. This didn’t mean she had the mind of a twelve-year old, however. At times she was more intelligent than Marco himself. Actually, I should state all the time. Of course, such intelligence and maturity comes at a price. That price was that she couldn’t hide her emotions worth shit. About as obvious as a neon sign above her stating ‘loves Marco’. A fact that Marc took to abuse for all its worth. This isn’t to say he didn’t recuperate these feelings, but that’s a detail to be revealed further down the line.. Stumbling over the hunter, she gives him a glare, “And...it would’ve went smoother if you didn’t get knocked out.” “Well, miss, that wouldn’t have happened if you got the barrier up sooner.” The following long-winded response from Abby would probably take up the remainder of this page, and be a rather long read. All that should be known is that it contains several strings of insults and a robust lecture on Marco’s previous failures. Naturally, he would tire of this rather quickly and chose to diffuse this by proceeding on his daily checkup of his companion’s clothing. That is to say, he flipped her skirt. I should note this warrants an 'Again'I’m not quite sure where or when this habit of Marc’s began. I am assured, however, that this habit is very amusing on the few times I’ve managed to witness it myself. I am also assured that a stammering Abby is an adorable sight.. Light blue. Refreshing. “Blue doesn’t suit you too well, you know.” A remark paid in full by a fist to the face. Footnotes=